Craig, what have I done to you?
by CraigaferTucker
Summary: Stan and Craig break up after a long relationship. Craig thinks he's insane so he commits himself to the South Park Mental Institution. Stan has no idea what happened to him, so when he finds out about Craig, SH*TGOESDOWN.
1. Dear God

**Chapter one: Dear God. **

**CraigPointOfView**

_**Dear God, **_

_**I have no fucking idea why I'm writing this. Guess I'm just desperate. Desperate enough to be an athiest writing a letter to God. Whatever.**_

_**I need you. Do your magical miracle thing you seem to be so known for. I want him back. I can't go on without him, as cheesy as that sounds. It's fucking true. **_

_**But of course, you wouldn't even do that to begin with because I'm gay. Whatever. **_

_**I just can't believe he doesn't believe I love him...He's my other half. **_

_**...Right now, I'm sitting in some alleyway using some crumpled up piece of paper I found, and a sharpened down pencil that's been in my pocket for who knows how long.**_

_**When he left me, did he not know that I had nowhere to fucking go? No home to go back to because I was thrown out of mine two months ago? Did he honestly think that I have a purpose in life without him? I have nothing. He was my reason to live...and now...I'm just sitting here waiting to die. I prefer the slow kind of death... the one where i'd just slowly shut down from starvation. Not the obvious simple knife-to-heart thing, etc. I love Stan...And always will. **_

_**Please. Bring him back. Give my life some purpose again.**_

_**-Craigafer Randolph Tucker**_

I ripped up the letter, knowing "God" won't do shit for me.

A shaky breath left my lips.

My fucking sanity depends on Stan. Now that he's gone...I have nothing. No reason to live.

Nothing.

I need help. I'm going to go fucking insane without him. Fuck, I'm insane already. I've never felt so fucking weak. Okay...maybe when I still lived with my abusive father...But even that. It's a different kind of weak. This...I just feel nothing. Nothing at all.

I could feel a wetness dripping from my eyes, followed by sobs spilling out from my chest. I can't believe I'm crying. Stan, good fucking job. You made the almighty invincible emotionless Craig Tucker cry. You deserve a freaking medal.

...I'm breaking down without him. I really fucking do need help. A therapist won't do shit. No..I need something more...

The South Park Mental Institution.

Yes. I need that. Nothing will help me. I need a straitjacket.

Then I started laughing. I couldn't control it...the laughs were mixing in with the sobs. I stood up, stumbling a bit and headed towards the asylum.

He made me insane.

**StanPointOfView**

Did I make the wrong move breaking up with Craig? Was it a mistake? The last few seconds I saw him...he looked like he was trying not to cry.

I bit my lip, holding back tears myself.

"He hurts you." Dylan's voice rang through my head. Dylan's loved me ever since I joined up in the small group of goth kids back in 4th grade. He's just never said anything until not too long ago. Anyway, he's right...Craig did hurt me. Physically, verbally, emotionally, and sexually. But. He didn't mean it. He never meant it. He was always drunk when he did that. Dylan thinks that if Craig really loved me, he wouldn't have drinken to begin with.

...I refuse to tell Dylan the reason why Craig drinks.

I'm the only one who knows why. I'm the only one Craig could trust with the secret. It's all because his father used to hurt him. Worse than he did to me. I've seen the evidence. The blood stains. The bruises. The cuts, burns...everything. He started to drink vodka to numb the pain...And that just got him addicted...and now...he can't stop drinking it whenever he gets stressed. And that's the reason why I've been able to forgive him...every time...

However... it would be nice to not get hurt for once...so... maybe it was a good choice. I really don't know anymore...

My phone soon vibrated in my pocket. I took it out, and looked at the screen. Dylan. He texted me. It read:

_Did u finally break up with that emofag? _

I grimaced, pressing the buttons to text back.

_Yeah. He looked really upset. Like he was going to cry or something. I think it might've been a mistake to break up with him._

Sent.

I waited a few minutes before not getting a reply. I tossed my phone over to the couch, and sat over near it. I began thinking over the whole break up.

"Craig..." I bit my lip, watching him walk into the house after having detention at school. I was going to do it. I was going to break up with him today.

"Yeah?" He plopped down onto the couch, propping his feet up on the small coffee table.

I avoided looking at him, keeping my eyes on the floor. "Do you...appreciate me?"

"What?"

I looked up into his beautiful blue-gray eyes, easily able to get lost in them. I came back into reality. "...Do you appreciate the things I do for you." It sounded more like a statement. "When was the last time you even said thank you for something I did?"

He eyed me, his gaze looking through my soul. "The other day when we almost broke up and you decided to keep me even though it was the third time I cheated on you."

I rolled my eyes. Of course he said thank you to that. "Any time before that?"

"...What else is there to thank you for? You really haven't done anything for me."

That. Got me heated. I could feel my face turning red in anger. "Anything I haven't donw for you?" I yelled, voice higher than usual. "I give you money for whatever you want! Food included! And guess what! It's all off MY fucking paycheck! I gave you somewhere to fucking live after your asshole of a father kicked you out! I've forgiven you countless times for causing our relationship problems! I've done absolutely EVERYTHING for you. And you know what else? I take the fucking abuse you decide to dish out on me when you get drunk, because I feel bad for your ass. And what do I get from you? Not even a thank you! I get nothing! N-O-T-H-I-N-G! Why the hell do you even love me, huh? Because I do shit for you and will love you no matter what you do? Is it because I'm the only one who gives a shit about you and no one else will bother to? So you know what? I'm fucking speaking up for once, and setting shit straight. I'm done with your ignorance. Dylan was right. You're a fucking heartless asshole." I took a deep breath after my rant, only to see Craig's eyes slightly watery. What...did I just do...

"Fine." His voice was a bit uneven. "Wanna break up?" He stood up, walking over to the door. "Just hope you know I'm fucking nothing without you, cunt." He left, slamming the door in his path.

My phone vibrating the couch cushion for me out of my daydream. Dylan finally decided to text me back.

That slut deserves whatever he gets.

I took a deep breath, silently wihing I had Craig back. He doesn't deserve anything bad...nothing was his fault...


	2. Asylum

**Chapter 2 :Asylum**

**CraigPointOfView**

The second I walked into the institution, I was forced into a padded room. A group of men came in and put a straitjacket on me. I had no hopes of fighting back. Not like I would anyway. Guess it's what you would expect to happen when you stumble into an insane asylum laughing like a retard while crying uncontrollably at the same time. Whatever. This is what I need. And what I deserve.

The men that put me in the straitjacket left the room. Once the door closed, it was impossible to find.

I felt...content in here. Not happy...I can't be happy without Stan. I feel...like I belong here.

I layed down on the ground. It was comfortable because the padding that made up the floor felt like a padded mattress.

I never thought I'd actually commit myself to this place.

I tried moving around a bit, ending up unsuccessful. Went from comfortable to extremely unconfortable within seconds. I couldn't move my fucking arms. This space was so confined, I've never been so claustrophobic in my life. I had calmed down from the laughing and crying, only to now be hyperventillating from the claustrophobia. I rolled over towards to some wall, beginning to kick it.

What have I done to myself.

I let out a scream that blistered through the air. I wanted out. I made a mistake doing this.

Kicking at the walls and screaming, I eventually saw a man open the door at the opposite side of the room, holding some sort of contraption in his hand. I looked at him.

"Get me o-"

A sharp pain shot through my neck. My body became numb as my brain began to shut down. Everything was now fuzzy. My vision...blurred. All sounds faded out into a low buzzing in my ears. My eyes slowly closed, unable to stay open any longer. Everything faded into a blackness.

**StanPointOfView**

It's been exactly 4 days since the break up. I haven't heard anything from Craig... Maybe... he killed himself...

Oh God, I'd never be able to handle being the cause of someone's death... Especially Craig's...

I stood up from the couch, and put my shoes on. I was going to find Craig..and if not...I'll be putting missing person fliers all around town.

I left my house, and walked around the main points of town. He wasn't there.

So I started looking through some secluded places. Nothing.

Then... A ripped up piece of paper was lying around in some alley I was looking through.

It was Craig's handwriting. I could tell.

This was only half a note,though. The other half wasn't anywhere around. I could only read the left half...

_**Dear God,**_

_**I have no fucking idea why I'm writing th  
>an athest writing a letter to God. Whate<strong>_

_**I need you. Do your magical miracle thing  
>can't go on without him, as cheesy as tha<strong>_

_**But of course, you wouldn't even do that**_

_**I just can't believe he doesn't believe I lov**_

_**...Right now, I'm sitting in some alleywa**_

_**a sharpened down pencil that's been in m**_

_**When he left me, did he not know that I h  
>because I was thrown out of mine two mo<br>purpose in life without him? I have nothi  
>sitting here waiting to die. I prefer the slo<br>down from starvation. Not the obvious s  
>always will.<strong>_

_**Please. Bring him back. give my life some**_

And that was it... I really wish I had the other side of this paper...

I bit my lip, skimming the half-note again.

_**can't go on without him**_

...I let out a sigh.

_**purpose in life without him**_

I couldn't be the only reason for him to live...could I?

_**sitting here waiting to die  
>down from starvation<strong>_

...if he really is starving to death somewhere...I hope I can find him in time...

_**Please. Bring him back. **_

...What have I done...

I bit my lip again, closing my eyes for a moment. I need to continue looking around town. Now.

I opened my eyes, looking EVERYWHERE in the small town of South Park. It took me about 5 hours altogether...No Craig.

I headed back home at around 9:30, unsuccessful in my work. I went right to my laptop, hooked it up to my mom's ancient printer, and made at least 100 missing person fliers. The information read:

**Craig(afer) Randolph Tucker.  
>Born Janauary 10th, 1995 (16)<br>6 ft 3  
>Medium length black hair<br>Blue-gray eyes  
>Low, somewhat nasally voice.<br>Nose, lip, and ear piercings.  
>Tattoo of pentagram on hip.<br>Call me, Stanley Marsh at 094-1000 if you have any information.  
>Thank you. <strong>

I started posting them around town, coming home for good around midnight. I was so tired from walking around the town twice in one day. I went straight to bed, hoping someone will call me, knowing Craig's wherabouts.

I fell asleep, worried about my ex boyfriend.

Ex.

Boyfriend...

I sighed, shifting my postion before finally falling asleep.

"Stan." Dylan's voice whispered right in my ear. My eyes widened, seeing him at my bedside. I glanced over to my alarm clock. 7:30 am... on a fucking sunday... Not. Cool. At all.

"Mngnn...Dylan...the hell are you doing here so early?" I muttered, voice laced with sleep.

"...I dunno. I haven't seen you in a couple days so I decided to pay you a visit." His dark eyes looked into mine. "So...have you like... made up your mind yet?"

Dylan's the one who helped me make the descision of breaking up with Craig. Now..he wants me for himself. I wouldn't mind that, but... I still need my time getting over Craig. Especially if he's missing...

"Dyl.. Craig's missing.. I'm really stressed... I'm not ready for a relationship right now."

"Why the eff do you freaking care about him? So what if he's missing? I don't care."

I sighed softly, biting my lip gently. "...I care that he's missing. I know you don't, but I do...And I put fliers around town if you hav-"

"I was wondering who would actually care about that emofag enough to put those things up." He interrupted. "I shouldn't be freaking surprised that you were the one that did that." He flicked his long, black and red fringe out of his right eye. "Oh by the way. Some mental institution called you." He reached his arm out and handed me my cell phone on the missed calls. It read STHPRK MNTL INSTITN, then the number after it.

"Uh... Thanks..." I grimaced, calling the number back.

"Hello?" A voice said on the other line.

"Um...yes...I got a call from this number...And I would like to know who called me and why?"

"Who is this?"

"...Stan Marsh?"

"Oh...Right, right, Yeah I called you. I was walking to work and I saw a flier with one of the patients here on it. Craig Tucker is his name? He never told us his name, but he committed himself here about 5 days ago. Well..more like walked in here laughing and crying at the same time. But the physical appearance the flier described seems like him."

My heart stopped. Craig's in an asylum. Because of me...

"U-Uh...Okay...c-can I come visit him then..?" I bit my lip, hoping what this man said wasn't true.

"No, I'm sorry."

"O-Oh..Why not?" I had to try to keep my voice straight, and keeping it from cracking in nervousness. Dylan was just listening to my side of the conversation, looking bored.

"Well, you know what? Actually, Craig is due for his first shock treatment in about 10 minutes. They usually last for maybe 20. If you come soon, you'll be able to see him leaving the treatment room. But when you do, he might not be conscious."

Everything this man was saying on the other line just got worse and worse...

"U-Uh...shock treatment?"

"Yes. Every patient here is required to have shock treatments at least once a week."

I hung up the phone. I'm getting Craig out of there. Soon.

I began to put my shoes on, getting ready to walk the few miles.

"What the h are you doing...?" Dylan asked in his bored voice.

"Saving Craig. Whether you like it or not, I'm doing it. He doesn't fucking deserve what he's getting. It's wrong."

He made a face. "Ew. Okay. I'm definitely not freaking helping you or whatever. F that. F him. I'm out." He left after those words were said. For a goth, he never swears. Huh.

It'll be easier if I'm alone anyway.

I threw my blue hoodie on (which was formerly Craigs...) and left the house about 10 minutes after Dylan did.

I walked towards the outskirts of town, reaching the Asylum.

Why did I break up with him...

I went through the front doors. The place smelled like a hospital. I despise hospitals.

I'm pretty sure I hate this place more...

I looked around the small lobby-type room for some worker of sorts. Instead, I heard muffled screams.

Craig.

I ran down a hallway, the screams becoming louder with every step. I bit my lip, hearing his agonizing shrieks. I've never heard Craig in so much pain.

Tears sprung to my eyes as his screams filled the air. I slid my back down the wall next to the door Craig was behind, hiding my face in my knees.

About ten minutes later, the screaming stopped. Now, I just heard quiet crying.

He went through this because of me... I'm such a horrible person.

Not even five minutes later, the door opened. I stood up as four men wheeled out a gurney with a sickly-looking teenage boy strapped down to it.

Craig's tired, unfocused eyes stayed on me as he was being wheeled toward a dark hallway. His cheeks were streaked with tears, two circular burn-type things on either side of his neck.

The look of my ex-boyfriend in a straitjacket made me want to die. I made this happen to him.

Me.

I sighed, rubbing my wet eyes. Might as well leave... these men were big. I won't be able to fight through them.

"I'm sorry, Craig..." I closed my eyes. All of a sudden, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked over to see who it was. I recognized this person as one of the men who came out of that room and wheeled Craig away.

"You have to leave. I don't know why you're here, but according to the rules, nobody is allowed to be here other than workers and patients. You look too small to work here, and too sane to be a patient."

"But earlier, I was o-"

"You have to leave."

I frowned, heading towards the front door. The dude I talked to earlier on the phone said that I could come to see Craig after his treatment.

Whatever. I'm not giving up. I'm still going to try to get him out. even if I die trying. Although I don't think it could get that hard to get someone out of there...could it?


	3. Shock Treatment

**Chapter 3: The Shock treatment**

**CraigPointOfView**

After I woke up this morning, I was forced into a gurney. I refused to be strapped down in the way that they had me down, but I didn't fight back. For one, the straitjacket didn't let me move my arms around. Plus, I needed to get out of that claustrophobic room. I closed my eyes, knowing I deserve whatever these workers are about to do to me.

The four men secured the straps on the gurney, refraining me from any movement whatsoever. There was even a strap across my forehead.

I was wheeled into a white room with a small medical table. On it, was a box with a knob, and a couple of small, white circular things connected by wires. The only time I've seen them was in movies to shock people with.

...Oh fuck.

I roved my eyes over to the worker who took the two circles and put them on my neck. I could feel my forehead beginning to perspirate under and around the strap.

This guy was going to shock me.

I started to breathe heavily as the man reached for the knob on the box. It looks like theres different settings according to numbers.

My breathing came out at a faster rate as the knob was turned a bit. The other three men held down different parts of my body while a sharp pain traveled through my neck.

This. Fucking. Hurt.

But when I lived with my father... It's been worse. I could maybe go through this fine.

Then the knob was turned again, to a higher number.

I started to hyperventillate, sweat pouring down my face drop after drop.

I was wrong when I thought I could go through with this.. the pain is becoming unbearable.

I let out a whimper once the knob was turned again. I could feel tears washing my cheeks. This was nothing compared to my father.

The pain was constant. No stops. No breaks. Constant zapping through my neck. I could feel the electrical currents running through my vains. When it was turned again, I began to sob, unable to catch enough air to make a full breath.

No pain can relate to this. Nothing.

The man turned the knob once again. I couldn't hold it back anymore. I screamed on the top of my lungs. I couldn't take this any longer.

How could people do this to someone? Who would deserve something like this?

Oh right. Me. I deserve it.

That thought didn't stop me from screaming or crying. I just wanted to break my arms free of this jacket, and pull those things off my neck.

The knob was turned to the highest setting. The highest number.

I've never felt any pain like this before. Never. Nothing even close in comparison.

I continued to scream, completely drenched in tears and sweat.

I'm going to die. This is going to kill me. I deserve it anyway.

Then...the shocking pain slowly started to recede. Eventually, I could stop screaming. But I couldn't stop crying.

I was about to pass out from this. So light headed... I was seeing double. My eyes were begging me to close them. But if I did... the men might shock me again.

Fuck no.

I fought to keep my eyes open, soon being wheeled out of the room. When I left that room of hell...I saw Stan.

Stan as in...My ex-boyfriend.

Ex.

But why would he be here?

I must be hallucinating. I guess I really am crazy. Good, I'm in the right place then.

Whether this Stan was a figment of my mind or not, I kept my eyes on him until I was steered into a hallway where I couldn't see him anymore.

I was taken to my room where I was violently unstrapped from the gurney and literally thrown in. In a laying position, I started at the padded wall, wanting everything to end. Just end. Die, or something.

I made a mistake coming here. I'm slowly losing whatever sanity I have... If I don't get out soon...my name will be the dictionary definition under the word insanity.

**StanPointOfView**

I called back the Asylum, hoping to talk to the dude I did before.

"Hello?" That familiar voice answered. Yes.

"Uh...yeah...it's Stan. The guy that put up the fliers and you called me before and yeah. "

"Oh. Yeah. Hi."

"I came there today and...some guy said I shouldn't be there. I wanted to tell him that you told me, but I don't know your name... and he was scary looking so I just left."

"Oh. Yeah, Dave is all for the rules. Sorry about that."

"Uh... It's okay."

"Did you see him before getting kicked out, or...?"

"...Yeah I saw him...Dude, is there any way that I might be able to get him out?" I bit my lip.

"No. Not soon anyway." He sounded blunt. I sighed. Why did I fuck up the relationship...

"How lon will it be until I can possibly get him out?"

"Three months. Well...the pace he's at now, a year. But we allow patients to leace at three months if they're alive and somewhat sane."

Alive...?

"What do you mean by...alive?"

"Some patients die from the shock treatments." Statement. Loud and clear.

I froze at his words. What if Craig dies before the three months...? I would never be able to live with myself.

I still love him. More than anyone.

"O-Oh..." I couldn't form any more words. I just hung up the phone, then layed down on my bed. Nothing can ever be simple for me.

...And then there's Dylan. Which just adds on more stress. He's in love with me. I can't just tell him that I don't love him, and that I still love Craig...but that's the only way I'll be able to be with Craig again without too much on my mind with Dylan. I'll just have to tell him the next time I see him, I guess...

Walking home from school I felt a finger lightly tap my back. I turned around to see the familiar red and black haired goth. Now's the time I have to tell him.

"Raven. Wanna come to my place and watch a horror movie or something? If you're not scared, we can take out me ouija board." He was always weird to see Dyla smile. Even through I've seen it an amount of times.

"Uh...well yeah...but there's something I need you to know..." My voice was hesitant. The last time I broke up with someone, he ended up in a mental asylum. But... technically, I'm not breaking up with Dylan. We were never really together.

"What? You're scared of the ouija board thing? We don't have to do-"

"It's not that." I cut him off. "It's just...uh...how so I word this... Um..."

"..spit it out."

"I...uh... still love Craig...and I don't think there will ever be...us together. I'm sorry."

He looked at me before just walking away. Not saying a word.

Why am I such a bad person? I let out a long sigh before walking home, silently wishing everything was back to normal.

Then again...there's no normal to go back to.

I just want to be happy. With Craig.


End file.
